The Day We Shared Our Hunger, and Everything Changed

My mom stood there, shocked and teary-eyed, then proud. It was the first time I saw her truly believe she mattered.

From that day on, my mom started volunteering at the nonprofit. My sister and I helped hand out food boxes. We felt like little heroes. We even grew herbs in pots on our balcony. The herbs were small, but they made our meals feel like they were made with care, not just for survival.

One Saturday, Mireya asked if I could translate at an outreach event. I was only thirteen. That day, I helped a mother and her shy son sign up for housing and food vouchers. The mother smiled in a way that showed she hadn’t smiled in months. I realized that helping people gave me something hunger never could: a sense of having enough.

Years later, my mom became a supervisor at the hospital. Mrs. Danika became the head of the nonprofit’s volunteer program. Every Christmas, Mrs. Danika brought us tamales with a special note: “Thank you for that salad.”

I was the first person in my family to go to college. Now, I run a youth outreach center, and my sister helps on weekends. Sometimes, my mom stops by with a special treat, arroz con leche. One of our volunteers is that same shy boy I met years ago. It’s a full-circle moment.

Looking back, we thought we were just giving something away that day. But we were actually planting a seed—a seed of care, a quiet act of standing up against not having enough.

That salad didn’t just feed three people. It fed a future.

And if I’ve learned anything, it’s this: kindness doesn’t take away from what you have—it multiplies it. Even your last meal can become someone else’s first step toward hope.